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Log: Mission Impossible
Razor Hills Jagged hills loom overhead, so badly damaged that they're nothing but ripped, rusty metal with still-sharp edges. The ground is covered with sharp fragments, deeply imbedded and impossible to drive over without shredding tires. On all sides are closely-spaced piles of fragmented metal, spires jutting like spears from every angle imaginable, an insane conglomeration of razor blades awaiting the unwary traveler. Fierce winds sweep down from the desert to the northeast, making odd sounds as they howl through the jumble of razor-edged metal. Sometimes it sounds like beautiful but eerie music, at others it sounds like a city of Transformers screaming in their death agonies. Do the skies get darker overhead? No, it's just Galvatron flying through them, ruining the mood of every locale he visits. He soars toward the predetermined meeting point with Counterpunch, grunting as he shoots away any outcropping of scrap in his way. Has the ground got lighter? No, it is just Counterpunch, who is loitering amongst debris and bodies and scraps, a dim glow around himself in the twilight as he smokes on an illegal enercig, letting the stimulants flow through his body "COUNTERPUNCH," Galvatron exclaims dourly as he lands, crushing a corpse beneath his feet. "You are a difficult Decepticon to get hold of." He clearly does not mean this as a compliment. "I have need of you, Counterpunch," the mad monarch continues, snorting derisively as he looks at the squalor surrounding the two robots. "I need you... to infiltrate the /Autobots/." Counterpunch removes the enercig from his armoured mouth and crushes it in his hand, optics widening in surprise at Galvatron. "My Liege..." he utters. "A wise and bold move, but would not perhaps one such as Ravage or Laserbeak be better in such an infiltration mission? The bond I share with my treacherous Autobot counterpart could leave me to be discovered far too easily" Galvatron smiles. "Do not worry about your /Autobot counterpart/," he says, tone rich with luxurious menace. "He will be... /taken care of/." Galvatron chuckles. "Leaving /you/, dear Counterpunch, to /take his place/." Counterpunch gives a stiff bow. "Thank you my Lord, but my counterpart should die by my hand and mine alone for the torment he has caused me. But if it is your will, it shall be done." He pauses. "What mission do you have in mind, sir?" "We are planning a major assault on Iahex," Galvatron says, smirking proudly and folding his arms, as if sure that the plan is invincible. "It will be reduced to /atoms/. Your job is to pave the way for that assult -- to ensure, in your /disguise/ as that insufferable /Punch/, that the Autobots' security grid is compromised at /just/ the right moment -- allowing our, heh, /secret WEAPON/ to do the rest." Slowly Counterpunch strokes his chin. "It is indeed an audacious plan sire, I am humbled that you would place myself at the core of it. But what weapon do we have that could hope to destroy Iahex, even with the security grid disabled?" Galvatron grins evilly, stepping in close to look Counterpunch optic-to-optic. "We'll just fight fire with fire," he says, ugly features contorte into a proud, demonic smile. Counterpunch stares into Galvatron's optics and then bows his head, for none can stare into the eyes of Galvatron without facing death. "Of course sir. Who will be my operator for this mission of extreme sensitivity, and how shall it proceed?" "Use this," Galvatron says, handing over a blinking radio module. "It is a direct line -- to /me/. I expect results, Counterpunch, and thus I will oversee this operation /personally/. When you have successfully infiltrated the Autobots, press /this/ button." A yellow light activates. "It will send a predetermined signal that will be our sign to proceed." Galvatron hits another button, and a green light activates. "Press this button when the security grid is disabled. That will be our sign to /destroy Iahex/ -- /once and FOR ALL/!" Galvatron indulges in a moment of laughter, before quickly sobering. "I will be dispatching death squads to handle Punch soon. The Decepticons will be maintaining radio silence -- you will truly be on your own, Counterpunch, in the most important mission you have ever been given. I trust -- you will not /disappoint/ me." Counterpunch bows again. "Of course not sire. I shall arrange my disguise myself, you will not be disappointed. However I would like to know details of my Autobot counterpart's demise, for I would like the opportunity to watch... from a distance of course" Galvatron snorts. "You needn't worry, Counterpunch. I'll be sure that the Terrorcons leave you a few pieces to play with." "Yes sir" Counterpunch intones. "Would not other deep-cover agents be more useful and less risky in such an operations? Nightbeat perhaps?" "Hh." Galvatron gives Counterpunch a cold stare. "Focus on /your/ mission, Counterpunch. Nightbeat will be dealt with when the time is appropriate. For now, we have bigger heads to sever." Inside Counterpunch is twitching. Nightbeat! He IS a traitor and must die! Outwardly though he keeps his cool demenour, bowing again. "Thank you Galvatron. What will the Terrorcons be told when they see 'me' walking about once Punch dies? We would not want my cover to be blown so soon" "That it's none of their business, like I usually tell them," Galvatron sneers. "They have their task. Once it's completed, they'll go back to garbage disposal duty or whatever I keep them around for." Counterpunch's reply is simple. He does not want to waste any more of Galvatron's precious time. Thumping one fist against his chest, he simply intones. "it will be done, my Lord!" "Yes, it will," Galvatron says, turning to launch into the air. "Or I will rip your core out with my bare hands." He then takes off into the sky.